


The way you play me

by orphan_account



Category: no - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a get-well-soon present and it's terrible and I'm sorry and how did you guilt me into this again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The way you play me

This was supposed to be the worst summer ever. Working for his uncle in a dingy little shop that sold violins (called Plucky's, of all things. Not after anyone, just because his uncle reckoned it was a good pun. As far a Grantaire was concerned, music puns were the linguistic equivalent of getting gum on the bottom of your shoe).

Grantaire hadn't counted on the music students who came to the lessons his uncle gave in the back of the store. Just one student, actually. Singular. Enjolras. Violinist extraordinaire, virtuoso, and headed to "great places," according to his uncle. Also the most beautiful human being that Grantaire has ever laid eyes on in his life.

Grantaire thought, that after 6 hours hearing 8-year olds torture an instrument, another three listening to the same instrument, no matter how great the muscian, would have sent him over the edge of the cliffs of insanity.

Who knows. Perhaps it did. Perhaps blinding, incapacitating reverence is how his brain was telling him to stop right the fuck now, because his sanity was completely and utterly gone.

*****

A week of seeing Enjolras every day at four, and Grantaire was smitten beyond belief.

One day;

"Hey Grantaire." Enjolras walked through the door to the chiming of the bell (it might as well have been an angel chorus).

Grataire stared, fixed, his mouth dry and his tongue suddenly a lead weight in his mouth.

Enjolras seemed to expect some kind of response, but by the time he'd reached the counter, Grantaire's tongue hadn't yet return to its normal, organic state, and his stomach hadn't quite finished doing backflips.

By the time Enjolras had passed behind the counter and opened the door to the practice room, Grantaire still hadn't been able to formulate an appropriate, coherent response.

Enjolras gave him a slightly expectant look - as though he thought Grantaire could reply like a normal human being.

What came out of Grantaire's mouth was something to the effect of "issrrrr?"

"I'm sorry?" Enjolras paused, the door open and the last dying screeches of seven-year-old Gavroche's rendition of "Ode to Joy" reverberating in the air. Grantaire swallowed. Gulped, really. There seemed to be something in his throat about the size of his fist. Enjolras stayed there a moment longer, while Grantaire fumbled with words and tongue and how did speech work again?

"It's R. You can call me R." There. Not eloquent, not anywhere near suave, but at least coherent.

Baby steps.

Enjolras half-smiled. "R. Nice."

And he left, the door clicking shut a few seconds behind him.

Two weeks, and - for some strange, unfathomable reason - their daily "hey." "hey." had turned into Enjolras showing up to lessons half an hour ahead of time (not that he wasn't always early, Grantaire told himself, he liked to be on time). Half an hour in which he talked. To Grantaire.

And Grantaire spoke back.

He hadn't thought that his romantically-incapacitated heart could have maxed out any further than it already had.

They were different, of course. Dramatically so.

Enjolras was perfect. A staight-A student (except in politics, where he had managed to draw the ire of his Harper-supportive teacher). A musician (obviously). A decent athlete.

Grantaire was... himself. Fuckup, bedheaded, scruffy, and perpetually dispirited Grantaire.

*****

Two weeks into August, Grantaire was sorting through reciepts when Enjolras opened the shop door waving an envelope.

"I got in!"

He threw himself down onto the stool behind the cash and flailed at least three of his limbs in Grantaire's general direction, the envelope clutched in one delicate hand.

"What?"

Enjolras seemed to be both out of breath and temporarily out of words, and he handed the envelope to Grantaire. A few lines jumped out at him - Enjolras had hi-lighted them, the dork, he thought affectionately - and his stomach grabbed at his lungs and started squeezing.

"You - you got into l'Ecole Normale de Musique de Paris?"

"Starting this fall. If I accept. I couldn't decide between this and the RCMT but" he paused for breath "it's in Paris."

"That's - really great!"

"It is, isn't it?"

"You're moving to Paris?" his voice wobbled a bit more than he'd have liked it to - but all in all, some part of his brain told him, a valiant effort. He hadn't considered that when his uncle had told him Enjolras was going to great places, "great places" had meant the other side of the ocean.

"Well, I can't exactly commute via red-eye."

"No, I guess not." A half-hearted attempt at a laugh escaped his throat.

Enjolras seemed to guess what was driving Grantaire's less-than-stellar response.

"I'll be back for Christmas and during the summer. I'm not going to move there permanently, not at first."

"Not at first?"

"Well, my family thought about it, but my sister's in school here, and -"

"No, I get it. That's really great!"

Enjolras smiled tentatively. "It really is, is't it? I got in!" He held out a hand for the letter. Grantaire was all too happy to give the offensive thing back. _You can't own a god, Grantaire, you know this. The sun will even reach the rats in the gutter, but they hold no hope of touching it._ Enjolras ran off to tell his teacher.

It wasn't really great. Not at all. Not even anywhere near the great sliding scale of "okay."

Enjolras was leaving. Grantaire would be forgotten, alone, abandonned.

Again.

 _No one stays, Grantaire, not parents, not friends, and certainly not aquaintances._ But were they really just aquaintances? If they talked every day, didn't that make them some kind of friends?

At the beginning of the summer, Grantaire would have said that two weeks with Enjolras was an eternity. Now, it seemed like the brief flare of a match before the all-encompassing dark that a city without him would be.

A week later, Enjolras stopped showing up to class. He didn't need to come anymore, and he had so much packing to do - Grantaire knew this.

He knew this.

***

On wednesday, Grantaire was polishing the glass cabinet that held bow resin when Enjolras waltzed in the door.

Gavroche was attempting to play a version of the hallelujah chorus. For once, the notes rang true.

"I wanted to say goodbye. My flight leaves in three hours and I really really don't want to not say goodbye because that would be really insensitive of me and - yeah." He broke off.

"I'm going to miss you." _Don't you dare, don't care, don't let him know you care, life is too damn easy to ruin when they know you care -_

"I'll be back at Christmas."

"I know. But I won't be able to tolerate Gavroche's playing nearly as well as I do if I don't have you to look forward to."

"Sweet. He is getting better, though. He might one day stop mistaking that G for an F#." Grantaire laughed. And swallowed. Enjolras started forward.

"Look, I - "

"I like you." The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them. _Grantaire what have you DONE._ Enjolras looked extremely confused.

"Well, good, we've been friends for a while, I should hope that you don't dislike me."

"I just thought it should be said. Yknow." _Stupidstupidstupidstupid_

"Um." Enjolras seemed to be at a total loss for words. "I should go." He was out of sight before the door had finished closing.

_Stupidstupidruinedeverything._

  
*****

  
Grantaire watched the minutes tick by. Enjolras' plane was probably boarding now. His violin was being checked - would he have checked it? He couldn't imagine him without it, tucked under his arm, would he trust anyone else with it?

3:10. Unless he was delayed, he was gone. Grantaire waited, staring at the door, willing him to come through, waiting many, many beats to long.

Grantaire turned back to the resin cabinet.

The bell jingled.

Whirling around, he was struck by various incoherent thoughts, mostly involving some variation on "no" and "what the fuck"

"My flight was cancelled." Enjolras stared at the gorund, his eyes were red and puffy, his face streaked with tears. He was still goddamn gorgeous (unfair of him, really).

"Shouldn't you still be there? Aren't there other flights?"

"I'm staying."

"What?"

Enjolras looked up. "I'm staying. I'm going to RCMT. I can't leave my family, I can't leave this stupid polluted town, I can't leave you."

Grantaire had no answer to that. He stepped forward, completely aware that he was covered in about fifteen years worth of grime. "It was a sign?"

"I don't believe in signs."

"But here you are."

"Can I-"

"I like-like you." _stupidstupidstupidwhatareyouFOUR?_

Enjolras looked confused. Grantaire turned around.

"Never mind. I just thought - you got a second chance, maybe I - "

He was cut off by Enjolras' mouth on his. They both pulled away almost immediately, and Enjolras was searching Grantaire's face for any kind of hesitation, and all Grantaire could do was pull him closer again.

And they pushed and pulled at each other, each vibrating like strings that didn't quite sing in harmony.

They stumbled forwards and backwards for a bit, not quite in tune, but eventually Grantaire had Enjolras backed up against the wall and a dozen violins came crashing to the floor - each worth more money that Grantaire could dream of having - because the universe couldn't just give Grantaire anything good without it being wrapped in destruction.

Grantaire stopped, because there was no way he was going to be forgiven for that. By Enjolras. By his uncle. He backed away, searched Enjolras' eyes for disgust, scandal -

but nothing. Not even reproach. Enjolras (damn him) smiled and dove after Grataire's mouth again. Grantaire was going to be working to pay that debt off until he was old and grey (but if it was here, and Enjolras was staying, then it might just be worth every penny he wouldn't have).


End file.
